


Once...

by stormnml



Category: Cartoon Network Universe: FusionFall
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 08:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13760295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormnml/pseuds/stormnml
Summary: We read about the heroes. We read about the clowns. But what about the ones who go unsung?(Or: A series of vignettes about someone completely unimportant.)Just a one-shot I've been prodded into posting.





	Once...

**Author's Note:**

> Language Guide:  
> ::comms::  
> "speaking"

## ...There Was Sky

* * *

The sky has been Kenneth Smith’s dream for as long as he can remember. Something about the vast, blue, never ending skies calls to him, an incessant tugging in his gut that never fades and keeps him awake at night. That blue fills him with a feeling of hope.

 

So when Fuse colors that beautiful blue sky a torrid green, Kenneth cannot help but feel that hope slip away.

 

(And that is the conqueror's goal: to rip away anything that might incite resistance.)

 

(What Fuse forgets - or perhaps has never encountered: humanity, when left without a hope, always finds a new hope to take its place.)

 

(Humanity fights back.)

 

So, as Kenneth watches the color of the hopeful blue sky turn to murky, putrid green -- the rotten smell of decay and the hazardous stench of smoke burning his lungs and nose -- he grasps onto his new hope.

 

When videos of the DexLabs rally circulate on the Net, Kenneth packs a duffel bag and runs through the smog for the nearest ECF recruiting station.

 

He does not turn back when he hears his mother begging him to return. He does not stop for five year old Emily, his sister only seven years younger than him, as she scrambles to catch up to her big brother. He does not look back at his house.

 

He grasps his hope firmly knowing that no matter what, he will not let go.

 

\---

 

“Name?”

 

“Kenneth Smith.”

 

“No, your chosen name.”

 

Kenneth stares blankly at the KND operative seated across the desk. The kid, about two years younger, cocks an eyebrow.

 

“As much as we detest it, we _do_ work with villains and,” the boy shudders, “grown-ups. Choosing a new name is for your own safety.”

 

Kenneth does not hesitate.

 

“Sky.”

 

“You sure? I mean, we have kids going around with names like Jazzy Livestreak and-”

 

Sky cuts him off, “Just Sky.”

 

“Well then, Sky, what do you want to do? We can put you in a squad of ground forces, you can learn how to sneak around for us, you can-”

 

“I want to pilot.”

 

The boy’s lips purse, “Pilot? That's a bit of a long shot, but…” He rifles through the papers stacked to his left. Finding the one he was looking for, the boy slams it down on the desktop, saying, “I can put this in your file, but you'll have to prove you're up to it at Basic.”

 

The boy leans back in his chair with the clipboard holding Sky's application. “Now. Ben, Mojo Jojo, Edd, or Dexter?”

 

\---

 

“You're all here for basic training,” Commander Ben Tennyson calls out to the eighty-four recruits standing in loose -- emphasis on _loose_ \-- formation. His words wash over the eager children and teens who all drink them up eagerly as if they were pieces of candy flung from Stickybeard himself. “At the end of this course you will be tested for aptitude and placed where your mentor sees fit.”

 

One of the girls -- she's too young, too much like Emily -- to Sky's right in the row ahead of him throws a pale hand into the air.

 

The commander shakes his head and says gently, “Your guide will make sure to look at your requests.” He claps his hands together with a tight grin and shouts, “Sort yourselves by mentor! Dexter to the far right! My group behind me! Mojo to the far left! Edds, stay where you are.”

 

Sky joins his fellow Dexters, sixteen in all.

 

\---

 

Sky quickly becomes known for his excellent marksmanship and unwavering focus during missions among his training squad.

 

(He is also known for the strange look in his eyes anytime someone mentions the color green and his penchant for gazing up at the sky in mid-conversation, but no one says anything.)

 

(They call him Dreamy.)

 

“Your mission is to find the group of Soulo Shells hidden in Sector V, once you find ‘em, you have to kill four in sixty seconds,” Numbuh 2 explains to the recruits. “This is your last mission before you take on your first Fusion and take your A.T., so remember everything we’ve taught you so far.”

 

(He doesn’t explain that Mojo, Edd, Ben, and a hologram of Dexter are all hidden in the area as well. This is the final exam.)

 

“GO!”

 

Sky’s team of four leap off the back of their S.C.A.M.P.E.R. and onto the streets, Crystal Fireheart taking point. The squad, a well-oiled machine after two weeks of doing everything together, tears through Sector V with a vengeance as they follow Treesa’s instructions. The KND Treehouse looms in the distance, a towering presence in the now abandoned neighborhood.

 

The Soulo Shells sit at the base of the chains tethering Sector V’s floating base to the earth.

 

Sky aims his Null-Void carefully and fires.

\---

 

Numbuh 2 announces that Soulo Shells will never be used for training again.

 

\---

 

Acidic rain soundlessly pelts carefully crafted DexLabs force shields as forty remaining recruits stand at attention, much more orderly than the day they first arrived a little over two weeks ago.

 

The graduation and placement ceremony -- which sounds incredibly pompous, not that anyone complains -- is somber as it gains another purpose: a memorial.

 

Sky stares at the screen flashing images of the fallen recruits as Ben calls them by their chosen names.

 

_Tristan Darkwolf. Ellie Whiskers. Terrence Ectoshock. Riley Sky…_

 

The image of the girl from the first day flashes on the screen before being replaced by the next face.

 

\---

 

That night, Sky names one of the few stars that can shine through the haze after Riley.

 

That night, Sky binds Riley’s memory to his hope.

 

\---

 

“You’ll be flying squads to their mission sites in one of these,” his new CO, Gilly Featherflight, says, her hand motioning to a carrier class plane. “These get used for priority missions and long trips, and you’ll be flying right into warzones. You alright with that?”

 

Sky ignores the question. “How often will I be flying?”

 

Gilly stops in her tracks and glares at the boy. “If that’s what you’re worried about, you can go pilot the S.C.A.M.P.E.R.S..”

 

“I just want to do my part in the war,” Sky placates, his hands raised in the air submissively.

 

Gilly nods. “Good. Now come on. You have a squad waiting for you in Hangar 1.”

 

\---

 

His first flight is to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania with a small squad of six led by an eleven year old boy.

 

Sky names three more stars.

 

\---

 

“That last one was close!” Kevin “Weave” Lostwind crows, sweeping into the recreation center reserved just for pilots with all the bravado of a peacock. At just barely fifteen, the ruddy haired youth is the second oldest pilot in the force. He plops himself onto the barstool to the left of Sky and calls, “Large root beer!”

 

The DexBot acting as the bartender wheels away to comply.

 

“So, how’re you, Dreamy?”

 

(Something the kids at basic never knew: he actually likes the nickname.)

 

(Something the boy who coined it will never know: he likes it because he didn’t know the boy’s name.)

 

(Something only Sky knows: there’s a star named Dreamy.)

 

Sky stares into his own mud of frothing soda and shrugs. “Just got back from another drop off in Seattle,” he replies. “Team of eighteen. Sixteen made it out.”

 

The teen next to him sobers at the news. “I lost three in the jump,” he murmurs as the bot returns with a giant mug. “I had to take off as the last two were running out of the woods. They didn’t make it in time.”

 

“‘M sorry Weave.”

 

“Yeah, me too,” the teen says as he hops off of the stool. He makes his way over to a large chalkboard on one of the walls that has dozens of tally marks and adds five to the total.

 

(Before the rec room closes for the night, nine more make it onto the board.)

 

\---

 

Another fusion monster makes a beeline for the plane’s right engine and Sky has to bank left to dodge.

 

“What’s goin’ on out there?” Number 5 questions from behind him.

 

“Dragon Fries,” Sky replies through gritted teeth. The pilot makes another sudden maneuver to avoid the assailants. “Do you think you guys can get dropped off a little further from the mission site than we planned? I don’t think I can get you guys to a safe zone to make the jump.”

 

The KND operative places a hand on his shoulder. “We’re Sector V, kid. Just tell us when.”

 

\---

 

That night, for the first time since that last day of Basic, Sky does not name any new stars.

 

\---

 

He finds Gilly on the roof, her orange jumpsuit a stark contrast against the vivid green skies. She’s standing on the edge of the building, toes just over the ledge. Her midnight black hair flutter’s in a soft breeze.

 

“You left pretty quickly back there. You okay?” he asks, not really wanting to get any further from the doorway in case he needs to make a hasty escape.

 

The young woman nods. “I’m just thinking.”

 

“Well, um… maybe you could think a little further from the edge?”

 

An empty laugh comes from his commander. “I’m not going to jump, Sky. You know me better than that. Besides, I think Lostwind would bring me back from the dead and kill me again if I did.”

 

Strangely enough, that image isn’t too difficult for Sky to conjure up. “Not if the paperwork doesn’t kill him first.”

 

As silence envelopes the two pilots, something draws Sky to the edge of the building next to the woman. He can hear the few birds spared of Fuse’s initial attacks chirping below; the breeze picks up the scent of fresh flowers and for just a moment, he’s not embroiled in a bitter war or flying child soldiers to their deaths every day.

 

“Terry Mayhem,” Gilly speaks into the wind which seems to carry the name along its current. “Lily Kline, Ida Lineway.”

 

A sense of awe takes over Sky and he realizes that he has been privilege to a sacred ritual the likes of which very few, if any, have ever seen. The litany continues, a haunting series of names that fly off into the wind to be sent to every corner of the earth.

 

Even as she finishes her list, the teen says nothing, his words completely lost. The two stand again in silence, letting the breeze wash over them.

 

“I trust the wind to take them home,” she says suddenly as if she needs to explain herself.

 

He looks up into the fading light. “I trust stars.”

 

\---

“Where did you get the sugar, flour, and eggs? And are those some of Number 4’s fireworks we’re not supposed to know about?” Sky asks amid the raucous singing of every single pilot and engineer currently on base.

 

Kevin shoves his shoulder playfully. “Quit over-analyzing it, Dreamy! It’s your birthday! Blow out the ‘crackers before they blow up!” His blue eyes sparkle with an excitement Sky hasn’t seen in a long time, not that he’s been looking for it.

 

“If those contraptions blow up, Weave, it’s coming out of _your_ wallet!” Gilly shouts over the din. The eighteen year old’s dark hair shimmers in the dim light of the sparklers. “Come on, Sky! Get your butt in gear and _blow_!”

 

(What Kevin doesn’t tell him: he and the guys pooled every taro they had between them to get the supplies for a cake.)

 

(What Kevin also doesn’t tell him: the group didn’t mind one bit. They’re just glad he’s alive.)

 

Sky chuckles at that and complies to a cacophony of cheers.

 

(What Sky doesn’t say: his shoulder throbs every time he looks at the small flames.)

 

(What Sky also doesn’t say: he still hasn’t escaped the stench of burning fuel and flesh from the crash even three weeks after the fact.)

 

The air is dense with heat and reeks of sweaty uniforms and unbathed feet, the singing is awful, and the cake has egg shells littered throughout, but as a bunch of kids and teenagers get high on sugar, Sky feels right at home amongst the rowdy bunch of friends he has made in the past ten months.

 

(What everyone tries to ignore: the tallies on the wall glow in the dimmed lights.)

 

\---

 

“I nearly got hit by a fusion fall today!” one of the younger pilots, Ezekiel Treadblast, shrieks as he runs through the doors to Sky and Kevin’s shared quarters.

 

Kevin, his lithe form draped over one of the armchairs in the corner, lifts his head from his comic and says with a smirk, “Zeke, the odds of that are a billion to one. Better think up a new one for us.”

 

(Something the pilots will never understand: Ezekiel’s never lied.)

 

(Something the pilots will never realize: Ezekiel’s a harbinger for things to come.)

 

\---

 

_Blood. Blood and heat. Unrelenting heat that licks at his skin and clings to his bones. His head pounds with the rain. Smoke smothers his lungs. His leaden tongue refuses to work, refuses to call out into the ringing air, or maybe it does, and he cannot feel it move._

 

_Something hot and sharp presses down on his back, pinning him to the rough ground, holding him in place for any enemy that might decide he might just make a decent snack. Off to his left, a head, one that he cannot identify because the fire has already devoured its features, stares blankly at him through the smoke and ash and oh God, he’s going to die here, just like that head. Oh, God, he’s going to die he’s going to die he’s going to -_

 

“Sky! Wake up, damn you! Wake up!”

 

_No!_ **_He_ ** _can’t be here! Not him! He struggles beneath debris, metal shifting on his back. This isn’t happening it’s not -_

 

“Sky! Sky! You’re not there! _I’m_ not there!”

_What? But the fire and the heat..._

 

He wakes to the sound of his own screams. A pair of frightened blue eyes meet his in the darkness; strong hands press his shoulders firmly into the mattress. Sky’s screams subside as he realizes that he’s not in that godforsaken field in Wyoming among burning wreckage, but trapped beneath the larger body of Kevin Lostwind.

 

The older teen’s face contorts from fear to a mix between concern and confusion. “Hey, uh… dumb question, but are you alright?”

 

Sky keens, heaving sobs wracking his body. The hands leave his shoulders and he curls into a fetal position. Kevin shifts above him, and suddenly, Sky’s head is laying in a warm lap with soft fingers running through his hair.

 

The nightmares vanish with the morning mist as wisps of sunlight peek through heavy green smog.

 

\---

 

Sky grins at the Dexbot on the other side of the counter. “Hey,” he says flipping two taros across the polished surface, “get me two root beers, will ya?”

 

“You’re goin’ at it hard today!” one of the younger pilots yells from the darts corner. “You gonna need any help guzzlin’ that stuff down?” The group of soldiers around him erupts into laughter.

 

Sky pales slightly at the thought of how many taros he would lose just from the one pilot alone.

 

(Fact: Just one pilot can go through six mugs of soda in an hour.)

 

(Fact: There’s no such thing as drinks on the house anymore. Last time, the rec room was out of soda for two weeks.)

 

“Nah,” he calls back, willing his stomach to quit wringing itself in knots, “the second one’s for Lostwind.”

 

The group in the corner quiets almost immediately. “I’ve heard Weave’s on the warpath again,” Ezekiel says from his spot on the floor. “He’s had a rough couple of days.”

 

“I wouldn’t know. I had the Vermont Run,” Sky murmurs. A number of heads bob in sympathy. Vermont Runs are always the worst. The trip is two days of numerous pickups and drop offs all over the east coast.

 

The doors to the Rec Room slam into the walls with a loud clang and every pilot in the room jumps. Sky’s stomach turns as Kevin storms through the doors, his cheeks flaming red and hands clenched. The teen marches to the bar, snatches the waiting mug of root beer off the countertop, and growls into the stunned silence, “What the hell are you all looking at?”

 

At his words, the tension in the room dissolves into uneasy chatter.

 

“Hey,” Sky says. A broad grin spreads across his face. “Did Eddy get into your taro stash again or something? ‘Cause I’m absolutely in the mood for another prank war if he did.”

 

The lights above them flicker slightly. Kevin stares at the floor as if he just wants to dissolve in it. “Nah, my taro stash is good,” he says. A bitter laugh escapes his mouth. “Unlike everything else around here.”

 

“Lostwind, will you get your head out of your rudders? You’re on break,” Sky says, gesturing wildly into the air, “take a load off.”

 

Kevin’s shoulders tense at his words and his cheeks grow red once more, but the teen sets his face in a dark grimace rather than say anything more.

 

Sky’s grin wavers at the change in his friend. He presses on, not sure if his courage will hold for much longer, “So, uh… Kevin.” He clears his throat experimentally. “I... uh-”

 

“Gilly went down today,” Kevin whispers into his mug.

 

Sky’s happy expression drops from his face. The air between the two teens suddenly grows cold as if someone has sucked the joy and playfulness from it. Sky flounders for a moment before he finishes lamely, “-am so sorry.”

 

“Me too.”

 

Sky’s internal organs wrench again. _So much for that discussion._

 

\---

 

Over the next few weeks, a new chalkboard goes up on the wall opposite the original.

 

This one takes initials.

 

(Commander Lostwind, with his shiny new stripes, makes a toast for the first set, GF, to grace the board.)

 

(Commander Lostwind, with his shiny new stripes, drinks himself to sleep an hour later.)

 

Sky names eight more stars.

 

\---

 

The wind rushing over the top of the tower whips Sky’s shaggy brown hair into his eyes, but he is too focused on the aerial battle taking place above his head.

 

A transport ship _Amber_ banks hard right in an attempt to ram into one of the fusion monsters flitting around the craft’s engine. Sky grits his teeth as another fusion monster takes a dive at the engine and barely misses. _That was too close._

 

::Sky, they’re too high in the air, we can’t use the turrets,:: Ezekiel reports through the Com Unit nestled in the Lieutenant’s ear. ::And we can’t get up there ourselves. Mandy’s put out a grounding order.::

 

“We’re not going to let him fly solo,” Sky growls. He turns quickly on his heel and marches back into the building, nodding at the security guards he passes along the way to Hangar 5.

 

Kevin, under the influence of a powerful sugar high, had once confided that Dexter was building new ships, a set of fighter jets Commander Tennyson had dubbed “Project Warbird”. He’d whispered their location into Sky’s ear before falling onto the floor, dead asleep.

 

(Sky finds it absolutely hilarious that the mighty Commander Lostwind can’t hold his root beer.)

 

Sky slips into the hangar and immediately makes his way over to a terminal along the right wall that was half hidden by large crates. Taking in the state of the panels, he momentarily wonders if Kevin’s info is wrong. Numerous buttons are missing and the main interface screen has a large crack running through the glass. At the motion of his hand waving over the screen, the display flickers to life, the DexLabs logo spinning in its center.

 

Sky carefully places a finger on the upper right hand corner of the screen and pushes down.

 

_CRACK!_

 

The sound echoes in the massive bay; pounding footsteps and worried shouts follow. Sky silently wills the secret door to appear more quickly as the terminal sinks into the floor and the walls slowly part. As soon as there is enough room for him to enter, the teen dives into the secret passage.

 

“Hey! You’re not supposed to be in there!” a voice cries behind him.

 

Sky ignores the voice and simply moves forward. It is not long until he comes across another hangar. Five ships, sleek and powerful in design, rest in docking stations. As per emergency procedure, all personnel not on emergency security duty have evacuated to the bunkers two floors down; the pilot has the hangar to himself.

 

Sky hops into one of the crafts and examines the controls. The setup seems to be that of a carrier class plane, a familiar model to be sure. He flies through the motions, performing cursory pre-flight checks as the system roars to life. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the security guards running into the hangar.

 

::Lieutenant, what do you think you are doing?::

 

Sky glares at the communication screen Dexter had apparently built into the windshield. Said genius glared back, his face strangely passive, but with fire in his eyes.

 

“I’m taking out those fusion monsters, unlike _some_ people I know.”

 

The corner of the redhead’s mouth twists into a mirthless smirk. ::How do you expect to get out?:: he asks in a clipped tone. ::The bay doors are closed. You will crash and accomplish nothing.::

 

Kevin sighs. “Dexter, I’ll give you a chance. Open the bay doors, or I’ll blast my way through them.” It is an empty threat, and both teens know it. It’s said Don Doom couldn’t blast through those things and DexLabs rumors, unlike most, are safer believed than not.

 

(The KND learned that the hard way when they tried to raid the pantry. The encounter ended with three explosions, six sore children, and a defense system Dexter had managed to sell to the _Pentagon_ firing on all cylinders.)

 

(Needless to say, Mr. Green was not amused.)

 

(Dexter, however, enjoyed the incident immensely.)

 

The boy genius on the other end of the line raises an eyebrow and answers, ::Threatening DexLabs is not in your best interest, Lieutenant.::

 

The guards are getting closer. “Please, Dexter,” he pleads, “open the bay doors.” Another explosion sounds outside the building and the teen’s gut wrenches painfully. “I need to get up there.”

 

::Lieutenant, Commander Lostwind speaks highly of you,:: Dexter says; his Russian accent cuts through the tense atmosphere inside the jet. ::Do not crash my jet.::

 

The bay doors open slowly. Sky thinks the sight is just about the most beautiful sight on the planet. “I won’t sir,” he whispers.

 

He pushes the throttle forward and the jet races into the sky.

 

\---

 

“ _Amber_ , this is Warbird Alpha, what’s your status?” the Sky calls into his mike. Smoke pours out of the bulky transport ship, yet it stays aloft. The rogue pilot takes another shot at the fusions surrounding the ship’s left engines.

 

The communicator crackles to life. ::Warbird Alpha? I thought the Warbird class ships were still in testing,:: the other pilot answers. ::Not that I’m not grateful or anything, but - Hang on a minute! Kenneth? Is that you?::

 

A wry chuckle escapes Sky’s mouth. “Yeah, Kev, it’s me. I might’ve commandeered one of these beauties.”

 

::Sky, you - You know what? I’m not getting into this with you right now.:: Sky can hear the irritation in his friend’s voice. ::Here’s the deal: I’ve got one of my four engines out. Right side, back turbine. You see it?::

 

Sky yanks the throttles towards his torso, taking the Warbird above the scene. Sure enough, most of the smoke rolling off of the ship comes from the specified engine. He affirms the analysis.

 

::Alright, I need you to defend the other engine on that side until I can fly this thing through the shields safely. If it goes out, well... you get the picture.::

 

An image of the _Amber_ falling into a tailspin flashes across Sky’s vision. He tightens his grip on the controls and answers with as much bravado as he can muster, “I’m on it, Kev. No fusion monster is taking out our Commander of the Air Corps.” The teen pushes the jet forward into a nosedive, taking out fusion after fusion with his cannons. He drives the Terrordactyls away from the singular working engine and stations himself to where the jet is circling just above the plane.

 

“Alright, I’m in position. You’re in the clear to make a run.”

 

A grunt is his only answer. The engine beneath Sky’s jet revs and the transport speeds straight for the Dexlabs outpost. Sky brings his own machine just behind his partner’s, sending volley after volley of blaster shots into the mass of oncoming monsters.

 

He doesn’t see the Fusion Blossom coming up from below the carrier.

 

\---

 

Sky is numb as the KND operative pulls his arms into cuffs behind his back; he barely registers someone reading him his rights. How can he when he stands in the center of the wreckage, ash raining from the sky, smoke choking his lungs, knowing that Kevin is dead and _it’s all his fault_?

 

He doesn’t feel his hands twisting in their cool restraints.

 

\---

 

“Why, Sky? Why did you do it?” Ezekiel whispers from his chair on the other side of the force field. He stares at the floor, steel blue eyes boring into the metal. “They’re talking about grounding you.” His eyes leave the floor and connect with Sky’s. “Why would you risk that?”

 

Sky elects to say nothing. He sits in his corner, hands twisting in the cuffs, eyes completely glazed over.

 

Ezekiel sighs and leaves.

 

\---

 

“Lieutenant, I did not open those doors just for you to mope like Deedee when I ban her from my laboratory,” a soft, yet commanding voice says.

 

Sky opens his eyes warily. Dexter stands just outside the force field, his posture rigid and firm in the bright brig lights. The incarcerated teen shrinks a little further into his corner at the sight of his former guide.

 

“Your hearing is in three days. I suggest you prepare yourself,” the teen genius continues curtly. His intense gaze turns to the cameras watching over his Agent. “Good luck, Lieutenant.”

 

\---

 

The air in the room is stifling. Sky twists his wrists in the cuffs almost habitually; he has had them on since they arrested him. Thirteen silhouettes line the wall of the circular room they’ve decided will be his end. He doesn’t understand the need for secrecy, but he finds that he simply doesn’t care anymore.

 

“Lieutenant Sky,” a voice booms in the silence, “you disobeyed direct orders, stole a prototype jet, and embarked on an unsuccessful and unauthorized mission. We’d like to know why.”

 

Sky’s heart begins to beat much faster; he can almost hear the blood rushing to his head. “I-” a horrific cough immediately wells up from his unused throat. He tries again, “I was trying to save my friend’s life.” His voice is hoarse from disuse, but he forges ahead, “He’d told me once about the Warbird project, and it seemed like a good time to take one for a test run.”

 

“Your “test run” cost the lives of four agents, kid. Give me a better reason and I might not beat you to a pulp!” Sky flinches at the outburst and his hands twist more quickly than before. If not for the bandages covering his wrists, he’s sure there would be blood dripping on the pristine white tile floor.

 

“Calm yourself, Juror Twelve. Threats like that will not help the situation,” another voice chides. One of the shadows, most likely the one who made the threat, grumbles and shifts in his or her chair. “Now, Lieutenant Sky,” this time, instead of a booming tone, the voice is much more soft and gentle, “the penalty for your behavior is permanent grounding. Are you sure this is your answer to our inquiry?”

 

A sick feeling twists in the teen’s gut. His answer could be the end of his days as a pilot, but he cannot find the words to make his defense. Throbbing ignites in his wrists; pain builds behind his eyes as he tries to process every thought and emotion racing through his brain.

 

“I did it because I love him,” he whispers. Even at a whisper, his words reverberate in the mostly empty room. The thirteen shadows and his guards, the only other people beside himself, shift uncomfortably. “I love flying, but that doesn’t matter anymore,” he continues, tears welling in his eyes, “he’s dead. And no amount of flying is going to bring him back.”

 

One of the shadows leans forward and into the light. A flash of red seeps through the wetness in his eyes and he can only stare at the face he’s seen in his dreams. Rage and exhaustion undulate in bright blue eyes; a mixture of emotions tug his facial features in all different directions. Sky feels a timid hope rise in his chest, but as his best friend’s - no, crush’s - face settle into a dark frown, that hope is replaced by fear and despair.

 

“You had him locked up for _three weeks_ and never told him I was **_alive_ **!” Kevin Lostwind yells. “No wonder he’s a wreck!”

 

The floor rushes to meet Sky’s face and he blacks out.

 

\---

 

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

 

Sky cringes at the high pitched sound. Not the best wake up call he’s ever had. He opens his eyes slowly, hissing as they adjust to the bright light assaulting his senses. There’s a faint scent of alcohol in the air, and he can just barely hear the bustle of harried nurses and lab techs. He’s in the infirmary.

 

“You know, I just got out of here. I’d really hoped I wouldn’t be back anytime soon.”

 

“Kevin?” Sky whispers. If it’s even possible, his voice feels more chalky than before. He fixes his gaze on the teen to the left of his hospital bed. A series of questions overtake his thoughts, but none were more important than, “You’re not dead?”

 

Kevin’s face twists into a teasing smirk. “Nope. Not dead at all.” His face sours as he says, “But it was a close thing.”

 

“But you went down! I didn’t cover you and you crashed!” Sky cries, his body trying to jerk itself upright. Something tugs at his arms and keeps him in place. He looks down and is surprised to find his arms strapped to the hospital bed frame.

 

Kevin follows his gaze and murmurs, “Yeah, sorry about those, Sky. I tried to reason with the bigwigs, but…” He gestures pitifully at the leather straps. “Protocol or some BS like that.”

 

He leans back in his chair. “As for the crash, I was one of the few who managed to survive. Don’t ask me how,” he says. “Apparently one of the KND found me and brought me back to base not long after they put you in the brig. I was pretty banged up.” He lifts his red t-shirt to show his stomach. Sky winces at the sight of numerous bandages and bruises littering the soft flesh. “I was in the infirmary for three weeks trying to heal up. That’s why they waited so long to get your hearing done.”

 

“They never told me,” Sky whispers. He doesn’t trust his voice to not crack, so he stops himself before he can say anything too embarrassing.

 

Kevin’s face contorts into the same rage he had in the courtroom. “Yeah, that was abundantly clear. Turns out, in the confusion, everyone assumed that you knew. Even Zeke didn’t figure it out ‘till much later.” His eyes drop to the floor, whether out of guilt or something else, Sky isn’t sure. “They wouldn’t let me out of the room, so I couldn’t come see you.”

 

Guilt then. Definitely guilt. Damn these restraints! What he wouldn’t give to be able to reach out and lay a reassuring hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Kev. I didn’t see it coming.” Sky lets out a shuddering breath. “I should’ve seen it.”

 

A dark look crosses the other teen’s face. “You’re one person, Sky. If you hadn’t been up there, I’d definitely be another set of initials on the board.” He sighs, placing a hand on Sky’s arm. “Well, they’re moving your hearing back a week to let you process everything. So we have some time to get things sorted.”

 

“What sort of things?” Sky asks. He has a feeling he knows what it’s about.

 

“You can’t just say you love me and expect that I’d just forget about it, dummy,” Kevin says with a smirk.

 

\---

 

Sky stares straight ahead, trying very hard not to fidget too much. The thirteen shadows seem to stare him down as he stands before them. His heart is pounds in his ears. This is it. This is where he loses everything.

 

“Lieutenant Sky, for disobeying orders and stealing a prototype jet, you will be stripped of your rank and prohibited from flying missions for a month,” Juror 1 decrees. Sky sags in relief. He’ll lose his shared quarters with Kevin, and he won’t be able to go on missions for a while, but he’s not losing too much.

 

The guards move to free the teen’s wrists from their restraints, but Juror 1 says, “We’re not done.”

 

Anxiety builds in his stomach. What else are they taking? He wildly looks to Juror 11, but the silhouette is stock still.

 

“For saving the life of your superior officer, we name you Commander of the Sky Raiders.”

 

Wait. What?

 

He can almost hear the smug satisfaction in Juror 1’s voice as he continues, “You will spend the next month selecting and training your Warbird squadron. Congratulations.”

 

This time, Sky doesn’t faint, but it’s a close call.

 

\---

 

It takes Sky a week to pick his team.

 

Ezekiel Treadblast, a dependable second.

 

Tanner Circuitshredder, a cocky ace pilot.

 

Raze, a speedster.

 

Nevermore, a sharpshot.

 

It takes Dexter three days to make a fusionfall tracker.

 

They’re cleared for flight in two weeks.

 

\---

 

::Raider Two, checking in.::

 

::Raider Three, ready and waiting.::

 

The process continues for the next few seconds until Sky ends it with, “Raider Leader, flyin’ high. Alright guys, let’s go blast ourselves a fusion fall.”

 

\---

 

::Raider Four! You’ve got a horrordactyl on your tail!::

 

::I see it, Raider Five! Think you can get it for me?::

 

Sky allows himself a small smirk, his hands throttling the controls to his fighter. This is what he had wanted two years ago: a chance to fly through the skies uninhibited by passengers or bulk.

 

Two more shots from his guns dissolve a horrordactyl into fusion matter.

 

“Does anyone have eyes on the package?” Sky shouts.

 

::I think I see it south of your position, Raider Leader. Should we engage?::

 

“Whoever's closest, make a move on it. Everyone else, give 'em cover fire,” the commander orders.

 

\---

 

Sky stumbles into his quarters tired and sore, but grinning from ear to ear.

 

“So, I heard it was a job well done,” Kevin says from his chair.

 

The pilot crosses the room to give his roommate a peck on the cheek. “And I heard you had a hard day.”

 

Kevin mutters something under his breath and pulls Sky into a full on kiss. The two come up for air a little more red than before. “Think you can make it better?” he whispers into Sky’s ear.

 

\---

 

“You sure you want to do this?”

 

Kevin looks up from his packing, his eyes full of longing. “I haven’t flown in over a year, Sky. This is the first mission I’ve been offered since the crash,” he says. “I’m going stir crazy in the command center!” He grabs a shirt from the bureau next to his side of the bed.

 

“I get that, believe me, but I don’t like the idea of you being gone for two weeks. Or the idea of you entering ground combat! You’re not trained for that kind of stuff!”

 

“I won’t be in the thick of things, Kenneth,” Kevin snaps. His mouth pulls itself into a deep frown as he says much more calmly, “I need you to trust me, please.”

 

Sky takes his boyfriend’s shoulders and gently presses their foreheads together. “You’re not allowed to die on me,” he murmurs.

 

\---

 

“Hey, Sky, you hear about that new girl?” Ezekiel asks on the way to the command center. “Some of the pilots say she may be another ace.” He bounds ahead of Sky in a show of enthusiasm that would, under normal circumstances, have made him laugh. As it is, however, the commander isn’t in the mood for laughing.

 

“Girls aren’t fliers, Zeke. They don’t have the stomach for it,” Tanner scoffs.

 

Sky shakes his head. In his mind’s eye, he sees a strong young woman in a pilot’s jumpsuit standing on the edge of the Dexlabs roof, looking out into the sky. “I knew a girl who flew better than anyone once.”

 

“Then where is she?”

 

Sky doesn’t know how to answer.

 

The image dissolves like dust in the wind, scattered particles of forgotten litanies and a girl who crashed far too soon.

 

\---

 

“Raider Five! Your left engine’s on fire! Pull out!” Sky orders from his own cockpit. The grey and black Warbird flies ahead of him, rolling and diving through the mass of fusions with smoke in his wake.

 

::I’m fine! I can handle a little heat!::

 

::Raider Five, I’m no expert, but I don’t think your engine can take much more of that.::

 

“Thank you, Ben,” he says into the microphone hidden in his console. A green Warbird darts into the fray; it launches two torpedoes at a cluster of monsters chasing his comrade. “Good work, Raider Two. Cover Raider Five until he can get out of there.”

 

::But sir! I-::

 

“End of discussion, Five.”

 

The grey and black Warbird shoots out of the combat zone, and Sky notes with satisfaction that Nevermore is flying in the direction of the base.

 

::Sir, I think I have the shot, do I have the- Raider Five! What’re you doing?::

 

Sky curses as he turns his attention to his scanners. Sure enough, Nevermore’s jet is zooming back into the battle, guns blazing. He can only watch as the rogue teen’s engine goes in its entirety and he drops from the sky in a death spiral.

 

“Computer! End simulation!”

 

The holograms disappear, revealing two teen pilots. The younger of the two has an angry scowl and his arms are crossed petulantly. The older stands at attention in a much more neutral position. Despite his ambivalent appearance, Sky can see the rage boiling beneath Ezekiel’s skin.

 

“Does anyone want to explain what that was?” he says as he steps out of the command room. He does his best to keep his voice even in the face of Nevermore’s scowl deepening.

 

“You tried to pull me out of a situation I had _handled_ ,” the teen says, sweeping his blonde hair out of his eyes.

 

“If you call that “handled” then you need to get your head checked, because that definitely wasn’t _“handled”_ ,” Ezekiel retorts bitterly.

 

Sky holds up a hand in warning. “Thank you, Ezekiel, but leave the scolding to me please.”

 

“As much as he deserves it, we don’t have the time, Dreamy.”

 

Sky nods in acknowledgement. “Alright you two, you’re dismissed.” Both pilots exit the room, bickering as they go. He turns to Commander Tennyson and asks, “Not that I didn’t appreciate the help back there, but what’s so important that you needed to come in person?”

 

The look on the intergalactic superhero’s face tells him everything he needs to know.

 

\---

 

He runs through his pre-flight checks, careful to not let his emotions overtake his concentration. It wouldn’t do Squad 106 any good their rescue team crashed mid-flight.

 

His pilots are already down one commander; he doesn’t want to make it two.

 

\---

 

The waiting is the worst part.

 

His engines hum beneath him, prepped for an immediate take off in case Fuse decides that he will not be bested today. Keen eyes scan the immediate area for movement, friendly or decidedly not, as his anticipation rises with every second gone.

 

Smoke curls into the air beyond the tree line somewhere in the middle of this mutated, wicked forest in which hides countless dangers the likes of which no one had ever thought possible only a few years ago. A flash of pink soars above the trees for just a moment before darting back into vivid green foliage and Sky knows they’re on their way.

 

Who they’ll have with them remains to be seen.

 

\---

 

Commander Tennyson is the first one out of the trees, carrying a limp form in his arms as comfortably as he can while running for their lives. He stops for a moment to shout an order at someone behind him and soon, fourteen more people stream from the trees either running under their own power or hobbling along with the help of another.

 

He lowers the bay doors and a mass of bodies rush on board his plane; he tries to ignore the stench of blood that they bring with them and the knowledge that most of it did not come from their escape or even themselves. The pilot finds himself running through a headcount of the people on board, noting with some trepidation that there should be seventeen passengers in total: six rescuers, eleven rescuees.

 

And there’s no flash of fiery red among them.

 

A hand claps down on Sky’s shoulder. “Blossom and Jack should be back with him in a moment. I’m not sure what else they might be bringing with them. Are you ready for a fast take off?”

 

He doesn’t even have to look up to know that Tennyson is asking a lot more that that. _Are you okay? Can you handle this? If something goes wrong, are you ready to make the call?_ The questions go unspoken, but they ring out in a tense silence.

 

Sky doesn’t answer. Once again, he’s not sure what to say.

 

\---

 

For such a prestigious company, DexLabs really has a problem with finding comfortable chairs.

 

Sky can’t help but notice how his back aches and his leg cramps as he bounces it up and down but he can’t focus. Can’t think. It’s almost as if he can’t breathe but he’s breathing just fine because there’s still oxygen moving through his lungs and _what’s taking so long?_

 

Time passes slowly, so when the doctor steps out of the room with a terribly downtrodden face and a mournful expression, the pilot dissolves into a full blown panic attack.

 

\---

 

Squad 106 becomes synonymous with the injustices of Fuse, despite the fact the shadow group never came into contact with him whatsoever, despite the fact that it wasn’t even Fuse, it was one of his radioactive green henchmen going rogue.

 

No one cares.

 

So Sky moves forward with an ever growing sickened feeling in his stomach as he lies over and over again to his pilots as per orders from Mandy herself. He looks into the angry gazes of children and teenagers filled to the brim with a hate and rage they should never have had to build. He sees the flames and the pain and the sadness that cloaks them all, choking out their innocence and childhood.

 

\---

 

He passes the Sky Raiders on to a young ace pilot whose proven herself on more than one occasion in multiple battles so that he can take up a position he never wanted, never earned, never thought he’d have to take.

 

He still can’t sit in a cockpit.

 

\---

People pour out of the building in droves. The younger ones, the kids who haven’t broken, whoop and holler all around him; they dance and sing their joy under putrid green skies.

 

Others, the ones who aren’t tired or battle weary but aren’t quite so ebullient put up a happy front, knowing that beyond this moment there is so much more to do. The world is damaged, lost, and someone needs to rebuild.

 

The old timers, the teens now looking on to adulthood, whether that means decommissioning or saying goodbye to old friends, stand mute, staring at a world that is now free. They’ve dreamed of this day, _he’s_ dreamed of this day, but now that it’s here… what next?

 

What do you do when the last few years of your life have been dedicated to war?

 

Whatever adults remain on this broken planet stand apart in the shadows of towering buildings. They acquiesce to the knowledge that their time has passed, and that in order for the world to move on, they must take a step back and pass leadership on to the ones who’ve held it for the better part of three years.

 

Around these soldiers, the party rages on and on. A giddy feeling hangs over the crowds like a cloak.

 

It can’t last. Everyone knows that.

 

So they make the most of it while they can.

 

\---

 

As he steps outside he finds himself a newly arrived quest to an impromptu party to which thousands of people have been invited. It’s easy to get lost in the crowd. A comfort, even.

 

So he stands, staring up at the skies, wondering, remembering, mourning.

 

He swears he sees a flash of familiar red out of the corner of his eye; he hears a voice in the wind. He sees a hand stretch for the sky with an unanswered question and feels two surprisingly strong arms wrap around his waist in a silent plea for him to not leave.

 

Then it all vanishes from his mind. The stars barely twinkle through a green haze and he realizes that he can’t remember their names, only their faces, their actions, their styles and jokes and laughs and everything in between. His ghosts don’t shine down on him like they used to, instead, they live on in his memories.

 

His hope is gone now, poisoned by fusion matter, smoke, and death.

 

His memories are all he has, all he’ll live for.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this one-shot is about three months in the making and is really my first foray into actual writing in a long time. It's sort of been an outlet as stress from a musical (which is inspiration for a few elements of this), a play, school, and standardized tests which may or may not determine my future. So, with the ever approaching release date of Fusionfall Retro (I'm hopeful) as a driver for me to actually finish this thing, I got inspired.
> 
> Any tips are appreciated, any flames are ignored.
> 
> (YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED)


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